


Like Petrol Soaked Paper and Fireworks (She Burns)

by marmvg



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Hope, Post-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Underage Drinking, i think???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmvg/pseuds/marmvg
Summary: "They say as long as there’s a will, there’s a way. Sometimes it feels a will is all Bellamy has anymore. But he firmly believes that you can only have a will when you have hope to fuel its fire. For Bellamy, Hope happens to be sitting right in front of him, hanging onto his hand, the warmth of her cheek pressed firm against his knuckles.The apocalypse isn’t great. It’s not horrifically mortifying yet, either. What’s worse right now, for Bellamy, is seeing Clarke Griffin sagging against him, her spirit wavering along the fine line between anger and despair."I don't know if you take prompts but if yes, I'd love a ff about the first Bellarke kiss. I hope that we get it in s4. How do you think that could happen?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I’m answering this 7 months late...YES, I do take prompts. Lmao I’m so goddamn sorry.
> 
> Also, this is actually NOT how I think a S4 Bellarke kiss will go down. However, I do think it will be...happy, if you know what I mean. I have yet to see one of Clarke’s first kisses be a happy thing. So, happy is kind of what this tried to be.

The apocalypse isn't as bad as Bellamy thought it would be.

Sure, the rain hasn't turned black yet and the only cancerous lesion they've come across is Jaha on his soapbox, but just _knowing_ The End is neigh should be enough to dampen moods, at the very least.

Which it has. Plenty of Arkadians have thrown their hands in the air and called it quits; they drink themselves into stupors, start brawls for the smallest reasons, spend entire days crying inconsolably into the dirt.

It's fair to say the news is devastating to pretty much everyone.

But truthfully? Since the moment Bellamy hit the ground, everyday has felt like his last one. Somehow, against all odds, it never has been. So this? The end of the world? It's not the end of the world. This is nothing new. It's just another fucking obstacle that needs to be overcome so his people can move on and get lives already.

Bellamy means that in the nicest way possible. Really.

Some people, however, have heeded his advice prematurely. They've chosen to avoid jumping the hurdles to salvation and skipped straight to the victory party. Or maybe it's a pity party. Bellamy isn't sure what to call it when you've given up on survival and decided to simply...live. Is that what losing hope is? Accepting your fate and embracing every punch life throws your way with a bloody smile on your face?

Bellamy understands the appeal, sure. Plenty of times he's wanted to just end the fight, let the universe have its way with him. "Go with the flow," Octavia would call it. The notion reminds Bellamy of a boy, on his knees, begging a vision to kill him; of a girl, under a tree, not letting him surrender.

Bellamy never considered defeat until that night. He hasn't ever since. The fight is ingrained in him like a bullet. It wakes him up in the morning and sets him moving, working, never contemplating otherwise.

They say as long as there’s a will, there’s a way. Sometimes it feels a will is all Bellamy has anymore. But he firmly believes that you can only have a will when you have hope to fuel its fire. For Bellamy, Hope happens to be sitting right in front of him, hanging onto his hand, the warmth of her cheek pressed firm against his knuckles.

The apocalypse isn’t great. It’s not horrifically mortifying yet, either. What’s worse right now, for Bellamy, is seeing Clarke Griffin sagging against him, her spirit wavering along the fine line between anger and despair.

“ _Do you still have hope?”_ she’d asked him

A gust of breath slips from her nose between his fingers.

“ _We’re still breathing,”_ he’d said.

Bellamy inhales, heavy and deep, when her lips part just the slightest against his hand.

Yes.  
Yes, he still has hope.

“I wish they did too,” Clarke mumbles against his skin. She tilts her head so her chin rests against the back of his hand and she can see him. “Do you think I was wrong?”

Bellamy knows what she’s asking. Was she wrong in telling Jasper to settle down? To stop throwing ragers in the woods, sneaking away rations of alcohol for the oddly happy nihilistic portion of Arkadia? No, Bellamy doesn’t think she was wrong. Jasper is wasting valuable resources and he’s putting himself and others in danger. He’s being stupid. Bellamy isn’t opposed to seeing Jasper happy again, but he needs the kid to find another way.

On the other hand, Clarke and Bellamy have bigger fish to fry than a rowdy delinquent these days.

“I think we need to pick and choose our battles,” Bellamy tells her, “and what Jasper does in the woods is the least of our worries right now.”

Frustration flashes in Clarke’s eyes for the briefest of moments before she casts her gaze to her feet. “I know,” she says. “I know. I just- I want-” Unable to get the words out, Clarke drops her hands into her lap, shaking her head at the floor.

Bellamy sits on his haunches in front of her. He slips his hand along her cheek, fingers light at the nape of her neck. His thumb sweeps a gentle path across her cheekbone. “You want to look out for our friends.”

Clarke’s eyes, boring into his, roll dramatically before running home to Bellamy’s again. “Yes,” she huffs. “Like you _don’t_ want to?”

Bellamy snorts. It’s impossible for them not to care about people, especially the people they fell from space with in a fiery tin can. You can’t break bonds made like that. Bellamy will watch over those kids until his dying breath, even when they’re wasting their own.

“I don’t want them to give up,” Clarke concedes, shoulders shrugging stiffly. “After everything we’ve been through, after everything we did to get here...I don’t want them to let it all go.”

“Maybe, if we do this right, they won’t have to.”

Bitterly, Clarke laughs. “Will anything we do even matter if they don’t want it? If they don’t want to be alive?”

Holding her gaze, Bellamy leans in closer to her. “I don’t think that’s the issue, Clarke.” Eyes desperate, Clarke watches him, waiting for him to say what she needs to hear most. “I think they want this – the ground, their people, good times. To _live_. They just don’t believe they’ll ever have it again. So they’re taking it now.” Bellamy watches Clarke’s shoulders fall as she expels the air that’s been winding her up. “And that’s the difference between us and them,” Bellamy presses on, “we believe.”

They’ve leaned into each others’ spaces, Bellamy realizes. The blue of Clarke’s eyes is piercing, freezing him. The rosy blush rising along her cheeks dances in Bellamy’s peripheral vision. He knows, if the moment were right, he could close the distance between them. He could press his lips against hers and take the next step in this dance they’ve been ambling through since the Drop Ship. They could change the game right now. From the way Clarke is looking back at him, Bellamy can tell she knows it too.

Not here, though. Not now. Maybe not ever.  
But Bellamy hopes.

“Hey,” Clarke says. Her voice is quiet but sure, enough to break the weighty silence between them, “you want to go to a party?”

Bellamy ducks his head to hide the stupid grin devouring his face. It doesn’t work. When he peeks back at Clarke from under his lashes, he’s relieved to see his smile mirrored on her face.

“Why? You giving up?” he teases.

There’s no chance in hell she ever would.

“No,” Clarke says. She stands strong and ready to her feet. “Just giving in.”

–

Jasper throws his End of the World parties sporadically, deep in the woods, skirting the line between Arkadia and Grounder territory. You can always find them if you track the iron stench of moonshine and the belligerent hooting that should attract vicious predators but mostly scares them away. Raven says the parties are a good time though she’s only been to one of them, for an hour, and left when Miles tried pouring liquor on her brace to make the squeak go away.

“Other than that? Fun,” she’d said, then, “Clarke would have a blast.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure if Raven was being sarcastic or not.

Clarke always claims she doesn’t know how to have fun, but both Bellamy and Raven have been privy to the rare moments when she’s laid down her armor and let loose. Fun radiates from Clarke in waves when she allows it to; flipping cups, tossing coins, cracking jokes – it all comes natural to her. It’s jarring, perhaps, to those used to seeing the seriousness she wears like a second skin, but only because she lays back so well. Who would have thought?

So Bellamy doesn’t think it’s far fetched to say Clarke is looking to enjoy herself tonight. It’s been a rough few weeks, after all, and though she’s never completely run away from her problems, she has been known to hide from them when she needs to.

And what better place to hide from the end of the world than in the very middle of it, surrounded by earth and humans and life lived fully?

“Come to shut us down, Officers?” Jasper greets when Bellamy and Clarke trudge into a clearing.

There’s a bonfire blazing in the center, people sitting on logs, drinking around it. On the far side of the clearing is the rover, parked between two trees, music blasting from its speakers as loud as it can play. People hover near it, grabbing drinks from the trunk, dancing to the beat of the sound.

“How’d you get my car?” Bellamy barks.

“Last I checked, the rover is property of Arkadia.” Jasper leans forward, peering at Bellamy mischievously. “Do you come here as Arkadia, my king?”

“We come as friends,” Clarke declares. She announces it, like friendship is official business and not a refreshing drink at the end of a long day.

“Ah, _friends_ ,” drawls Jasper. “I didn’t realize the two of you remembered how to be _friends_.” He lifts his cup at them, wagging a finger between Bellamy and Clarke. “Even to each other. If you know what I _mean_.”

Bellamy growls. “Watch it.”

Jasper raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, hey, we’re all friends here!” Slowly, he backs away, smirking deviously as he goes. “Just don’t be narcs, ‘kay?” With that, he turns his back on them, stumbling to Monty and Harper who are wrapped around each other by the fire.

Unperturbed, Clarke jerks her head to the rover. “Come on.”

The stares they receive just for being at this party don’t go unnoticed by Bellamy and Clarke. They’re aware that by now, to most people, they’re viewed differently than most. They’re held apart. Bellamy supposes it makes sense. They took charge of the delinquents, and they eviscerated Mount Weather, and then they rescued their entire people from a soul sucking A.I., and now? _Now_ they’ve tasked themselves with saving the human race. It’s not usual, no, even for your typical “hero”. But Bellamy still feels normal. Normal enough that people shouldn’t be watching and whispering every time he and Clarke happen to be near them. The whole thing makes Bellamy’s skin itch. Part of him wants to take Clarke’s hand and get the hell out of dodge, hide away forever. Mostly though, he wants to walk across the grass and grab a drink with his best friend, no worries, just like everyone else.

Stopping at the back of the rover, Clarke leans her weight against Bellamy’s side. “Relax,” she whispers. “Ignore them.”

Bellamy scoffs. “Ignore who? Everyone?”

She looks around, then back at him, lifting one lazy shoulder. “Yeah.” Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

With great effort, Bellamy trains his eyes on the barrel of moonshine before them, away from the crowd, and rolls the discomfort off of his shoulders. “I’m gonna need more than one drink if you want me to do that.”

Thrusting a tin filled to the brim in Bellamy’s hands, Clarke levels him with her eyes and says “so have more than one,” and clinks her cup against his.

And have more than one they do.

Despite having built up a tolerance to moonshine over the last year, it still only takes one drink for Bellamy and Clarke to become pleasantly wasted. The eyes that were following them melt into spots at the corners of Bellamy’s vision, and it’s with ease that he and Clarke step away from their secluded corner at the edge of the party and move to sit with the delinquents. Maybe they’re all too drunk to remember they haven’t gotten along in months, or maybe it’s simply this easy to fall back in love with old friends, but Bellamy and Clarke have... _fun_.

Harper is goofy – something Clarke never had the chance to learn – and constantly has everyone doubled over with tears in their eyes. Jasper and Monty recount their adventures on the Ark, and Bellamy can almost imagine he was with them if he tries to. Miller has just the right type of morbid humor to bounce off of Clarke’s and Bellamy’s, and even Bryan jumps into the conversation, enthralling everyone with the story of how Miller was arrested while sitting on the toilet.

It’s only one more round of drinks before Jasper pulls Clarke to her feet, spinning her in a clumsy circle. Bellamy can only assume they’re supposed to be dancing.

Half joking, he asks Monty how much Jasper has had to drink.

Proudly, Monty smiles, pointing to where Jasper is dipping a laughing Clarke. “Eight cups,” proclaims Monty, grin stretching wider, “of straight water.” He must be amused by the look of surprise on Bellamy’s face, because Monty laughs when he says “he’s not throwing life away anymore, Bellamy. He’s grabbing it by the lapels.”

Jasper has one hand in Clarke’s and the other on her waist as he drags them around the clearing, singing comically at the top of his lungs. Still shaking with laughter, Clarke can barely hold herself up as she falls against him, occasionally trying to sing along. Bellamy watches her, entranced. The glow of the fire highlights her in the shadows of the night, the embers of the flames flickering around her like stars. Moon rays ignite the dark, break through the trees, and illuminate her, following her every move. She’s always been beautiful, but like this, letting go, smiling on Earth with their family, Bellamy has never seen her more radiant. She owns the dirt around them and the grass beneath her feet; she sprouts straight from the ground, same as the trees behind her; she blows with the wind and shines like Polaris and Earth spins around her as though she’s the sun. Clarke sets the world in motion. She sets everything in motion. She moves him.

Miller coughs, dragging Bellamy’s attention away from her. “You should too, by the way,” he suggests. Bellamy squints at him, confused. Miller elaborates. “Grab the world by the lapels.” His eyes dart to Clarke, then back to Bellamy, and he raises his eyebrows to make his point clearer.

Loving Clarke has never been about making a move, though. It’s been about standing at her side because she stands at his, about trusting her with everything, least of all his life; it’s about reaching into the darkness and holding out a hand, guiding each other back into the light. It’s a love peppered with soft touches and tight embraces, with understanding looks and dry teasing. It makes them the greatest allies and the best of friends, and sometimes, when it has to, the worst of enemies. Always though, no matter what, loving Clarke and being loved back, is everything they need, exactly when they need it. Having Clarke’s body against his isn’t necessary to prove that. All he needs is her heart and his, beating together, for the world and for each other. That’s it.

“Don’t need to,” he tells Miller. Over Jasper’s shoulder, Clarke’s eyes catch Bellamy’s. The smile she wears is gentle and warm and only for him. “The world and I grabbed each other by the lapels a long time ago.”

–

It’s cold on their trek back to Arkadia. Bellamy’s jacket is draped over Clarke’s shoulders despite her promise that she’ll murder him if he freezes to death. He insists his buzz is enough to keep him warm. It doesn’t hurt that Clarke is tucked into his side, sharing her heat, too. Bellamy pulls her closer, arms wrapped around her shoulders. He hides his smile into his collar when she reaches for the hand dangling over her chest.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to the party,” Clarke apologizes.

“Sorry?” Puzzled, Bellamy looks down at her. “You didn’t drag me, Clarke. I said I would go.”

“Only because _I_ wanted to.”

Scoffing, Bellamy leads them through the gates of Arkadia. “I don’t take orders from you,” he reminds her.

She pinches his side where her hand rests on his waist.

“I don’t regret going,” Bellamy assures her. “I had fun. More fun than I’ve had in a while.”

He senses Clarke’s apprehension as she shifts her body against him. “But you wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t want to go.”

“Would _you_ have gone if I decided to hang back?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke hesitates, and that’s all Bellamy needs to know her answer. “No,” she admits.

“I didn’t mind going, Clarke,” Bellamy reiterates. “Like I already said, I’m glad we did. And I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think we needed a break.”

“ _Did_ we need a break, though?” asks Clarke. She slips out from under Bellamy’s arm, turning to face him. She lets his hand fall between them.

They’re standing outside the dilapidated station that leads to their quarters now. The only thing disturbing the darkness shrouding them is the burning torch hanging on the wall, flames licking the night sky over their heads. A harsh gust of wind blows, sending its light dancing down toward them. The glow it casts cloaks Clarke, haloing her head like a blazing golden crown. It matches the fire in her eyes and the sight sets one starting in Bellamy’s chest.

“Did we _really_ need to go to one of Jasper’s parties?” she asks again. “We have so much mapping that needs to be done before we meet with the Glowing Forest Clan. Rationing, too. After we wasted all of last week dealing with Ice Nation, we can’t _afford_ to shirk our responsibilities anymore. We can’t do this again, Bellamy.”

He fails to remember a time they ever did. “I think we should,” he says.

“Should?”

“Should shirk our responsibilities more.”

Bellamy takes a step closer to her, farther into the light of the torch, sharing the warmth it bestows upon Clarke.

With her eyes, she levels him, and warns him with his name. “Bellamy.”

“Clarke,” he mimes her. “What exactly is the point in doing what we’re doing?”

Her eyes practically bulge out of her head. Clarke blinks at him, baffled, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “To save our people, Bellamy.”

“Why?” he prompts her.

Her voice is loud when she answers him, angry. “So they can _live_.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy points to the woods, in the direction where Jasper’s party is still raging on. “ _That_ is what living is. That is what _you_ fight for every single day.”

Clarke stares off into the distance where Bellamy directed her attention. She soaks in the trees and the land and the sky like she hasn’t seen them in a lifetime; like she knew them once, but forgot them, and just remembered how much they fill up her heart.

“We did need tonight, Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice is soft, almost lost on the wind. “We needed to remember why we do what we do.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Clarke confesses. Her mouth flounders around words she can’t quite squeeze out yet. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

This side of Clarke is not new, but it isn’t one people see often. Clarke, so confident and sure, losing faith in herself and cracking. But, like she is for him, Bellamy is there, always, to catch her pieces as they fall and put them back together.

“You’re Clarke,” he says simply, “and you’re standing in the cold with me, having an existential crisis. Sometimes you try to save the world.”

Clarke battles the smirk struggling to inch across her face. Raising his brows at her, Bellamy waits for her to give in and let it. When finally she can’t hold her smile back, Clarke scoffs at herself for losing. Bellamy can’t bring himself to feel bad for her. His words got through, after all.

“That was one of your more sub par motivational speeches,” Clarke tells him.

Offended, Bellamy frowns down at her. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Whatever.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking up at him with small wonder. “I don’t know what I ever did to make Bellamy Blake nice to me.”

For a moment, he considers answering sarcastically. That’s when wit abandons him. Nothing about Bellamy and Clarke has ever been a joke to him, after all. And she’s done everything. She’s done everything for him, to him, with him. She had the nerve to challenge him, and she surprised him, and she showed him the world in an entirely different way; she rescues him from his demons, every second of every day, and lets him return the favor; she thinks about him, cares about him, and she made him do the same for himself. Clarke has changed Bellamy, completely. She ignited a spark in his soul, one that was always there but dimming, and taught him how to make it rage until it set his world aflame in a fiery inferno, fueled by purpose and possibility.

Bellamy sags before her, melting. “You gave me hope.”

It’s not the answer she expected, he can tell. Her arms fall to her sides, mouth falling open; her eyes swell with emotion once more. “Bellamy...”

Like he hasn’t just confessed she set his world spinning, he shrugs.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says again.

She inches closer, cautiously, minutely. Her eyes never leave his once. Not even when their chests are brushing, and they’re centimeters apart, and he can feel her breath fanning across his skin.

“Bellamy.” His name is barely a hush falling from her lips, but it shoots heat down his spine, straight to his toes.

Clarke’s rests her hands on his chest, sliding them feather-light up to his neck. The air escapes Bellamy’s lungs in quick, shallow spurts.

“I only have hope to give,” Clarke says, breathing her words straight into him, “because you gave it to me too.”

Bellamy doesn’t believe he’s heard anything quite as unreal and earth shattering in his entire life. Somehow, he’s acquired the unique ability to inspire a belief in something more in people. He knows this. He’s used it as a weapon. He’s sent innocent people to their deaths with it. Though, Clarke would remind him, he’s saved just as many with it, too. But he’s always thought Clarke, who lives on a totally different plane than a typical human being, was impervious to him. It’s the most beautiful and terrifying thing in the universe to learn she’s not.

“Clarke.” Bellamy chokes out her name like it’s strangling him. He can’t resist from framing her face in his hands, savoring the warmth of the blush on her cheeks. She lets herself fall into him.

Breath mingling, noses bumping, they savor the brush of skin on skin, tangling themselves together. Bellamy counts the erratic beats of her heart besides his, waiting until they’re lazy, content. He opens his drooping lids to catch her eye.

It’s a question – are you ready? Should we really take this leap?

The corners of Clarke’s mouth tick up into an answer.

Then, under the light of the moon, beneath the flames of the torch, with love kindling deep within their hearts, they do.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Lmk! Follow me on Tumblr @bllrke for more.


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